


Written in Stars And Stone

by DevilsCourt, that_one_gay_potato, The_trash_cannot



Series: To Chance a Dream [1]
Category: Hamlet (1990), Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Depressed Ophelia, Everyone Is Gay, Execution, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hamlet and Horatio are both nerds, Hamtio, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Shakespearean Language, Some angst, Weddings, eventual angst, gay fluff, i hope this isn't to cheesy, possessive horatio, shakespeare au, this is just a lot of wish fulfillment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:10:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilsCourt/pseuds/DevilsCourt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_one_gay_potato/pseuds/that_one_gay_potato, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_trash_cannot/pseuds/The_trash_cannot
Summary: Hamlet AU where King Hamlet survives his initial poisoning, and Claudius's plot is found out.





	1. Chapter 1

_October 14, 1599_

“Horatio,” Hamlet whispered. The redheaded man rolled over and groaned in response. “Horatio,” The blond said, louder. Horatio buried his head further under the heavy woolen blanket. “Horatio!” Hamlet demanded. “It’s far past time, they are expecting us in the courtroom in an hour!” 

“They are expecting _you_ ,” Horatio retorted, voice still gravelly from sleep. “I have no reason to be there.”

“You do have a reason to be there.” Hamlet was incessantly poking Horatio’s side. “Me.”

Horatio finally lifted his head from the cover, glaring at Hamlet through the hair hanging in his chocolate eyes. “I hate you,” he muttered, crawling off of the bed.

“I love you, too,” Hamlet chirped in a sing-song voice. Horatio turned away to hide his smirk.

Not long after, the two men entered the court. “You are late,” one of the lords said stiffly, glaring at Horatio. He was about to respond when Hamlet silenced the courtier with a glare.

“I’d advise you to watch your tongue,” he snarled. 

“V-very well, Lord Hamlet,” the lord responded fearfully. “Today we are gathered here to discuss the topic of attempted murder, from Claudius of Denmark. He has attempted the murder of King Hamlet. Prince Hamlet, what say you?”

“Treason, says I, of the highest order. There is a harsh punishment for such a thing,” Hamlet stated calmly, earning an approving look from Horatio. “What say you, Horatio?”

“Horatio has no say in this, Lord Hamlet,” one of the lords chimed in, catching the glance. “He has no part in this court.”

“If he has no say, nor do I,” Hamlet snapped. “Is he not the one who advises my actions? Lead my tongue?” 

“Very well." They all knew it was pointless to argue with the prince, even if he scoffed at the traditions and rules of the court. "Horatio, what say you?” 

“I say treason.” He lifted his head to look everyone in the eye. “The king shall decide punishment.” 

Everyone’s heads turned to the throne where the king sat, looking sickly, but with a fire burning in his eyes nonetheless. The same one that burned in the matching eyes of his son. 

“It pains me much to say, but such treason is punishable by death. Though I wish it not on my kin, so it must be. The vote of the court?” King Hamlet questioned gruffly, clearing his throat. Many hands went up and the elder Hamlet nodded. “Then it has been decided.” 

With the final words of the king, the court was dismissed, giving Horatio time to tease his Lord. 

“Wasn’t so bad, now was it, my Lord?” he jested. 

“Absolutely horrid, dearest Horatio,” Hamlet groaned, chuckling along with his friend at their antics. They walked towards the sparring field, where a small number of guards were practicing.

“Do you desire to spar, my Lord?” Horatio asked with an exaggerated bow. Hamlet smirked, drawing his sword and walking into the field. Horatio drew his rapier and followed. They circled for a few minutes, each attempting a few light strikes and feints in almost a playful dance, neither wanting to risk hurting the other. They had locked swords in a parry when Horatio tripped over a loose stone, sending them both to the ground. Their swords clanged a few feet away, but all they could focus on was each other, eyes meeting in a lock just as much as their swords had. They gazed at each other, Hamlet on top of Horatio. They drew closer together, but pulled away when they heard someone running towards them.

“Lord Hamlet, are you alright?” a guard cried, causing Hamlet and Horatio to leap to their feet quickly. 

“Aye. I’m uninjured. Are you safe, Horatio?” He turned towards the other man

“Yes, my Lord. I am quite fine,” Horatio replied, nervously rubbing the palm of his hand. He wiped off the dirt from his back, and retrieved his sword.

“I am glad to hear it.” Hamlet was about to say something else when there came a cry from the castle that the meal was prepared. “Alas, supper. Come, Horatio.” 

“Aye, my Lord.” Horatio smiled, lifting an eyebrow. He followed Hamlet to the castle, where the King glanced briefly at Horatio, then carried on with his meal. Horatio was placed next to Hamlet, where their dinner was served. During the meal, Horatio felt a pair of eyes burning into his skull. When he turned to see what it was, he saw a slender form in white slip through a small door out of the Grand Hall.

“What troubles you, Horatio?” Hamlet asked, smile dropping from his face.

“Nothing at all, my Lord,” Horatio replied, turning back to his plate. For the rest of the meal, he moved his food around the plate, seemingly having lost his appetite. 

After the meal, Hamlet and Horatio retired to Hamlet’s quarters. They were both engrossed in reading when a knock came at the door. Furrowing his brow, Hamlet set down his book and opened the door. There stood Ophelia, daughter of a commoner named Polonius.

“My Lord Hamlet!” She cried, smile dancing on her lips, until she looked behind Hamlet. “Lord Horatio,” she greeted, seeming confused and displeased at the presence of the other male.

“Ophelia, how are you? I hope you’re well,” Hamlet asked, letting the dark-haired maiden in. Horatio only eyed her a moment longer before the earthen eyes drifted back to the bound parchment. Hamlet and Ophelia chatted for a while Horatio only commenting every once in a while. 

Horatio didn’t hate the girl, no, he would never claim so. Yet, the way she spoke with Hamlet, stepping in so close to _his_ Hamlet caused his eyes to narrow and red-hot jealousy to bubble in his soul. He was happiest when the girl left, bidding the lord good night, nodding politely to Horatio. As soon as she left, Hamlet turned to the man on his bed. Horatio had taken off his boots, sitting against the headboard of the bed, book in hand. Brown eyes scanned the pages too quickly, pointedly ignoring the sea-foam green of the one watching him. 

“Horatio,” Hamlet called, but was ignored. Chuckling, Hamlet sank into the bed next to him. “Horatio, love. Will you not talk to me?” Silence still. “Horatio, please. I bid you, speak.”

“Why must you indulge her?” Horatio asked suddenly, snapping shut his book. “Why must you speak to her as if I am not here, listening? Why would you call me ‘love’ then turn and indulge her fantasies?”

Hamlet sat, mouth hanging slightly open as Horatio turned away again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short flashback to before Hamlet and Horatio were together, and a resolution

_August 8, 1599_

“My Lord,” Horatio greeted Prince Hamlet as he entered the library. The prince nodded an acknowledgement to his advisor, combing through the rows of books. Horatio watched him for a moment, studying the curve of his stubble-covered chin and the dusty-gold of his hair. He shook his head; he should not think of the prince in such ways. He was a courtier, not a courtesan. He turned back to his book, a history of the crown of France, pretending that the choice had not been prompted by the prince’s love of the country. Hamlet selected a book, and sat at the table with Horatio, just beside him. Horatio tried to read the book he had selected, but all that he could do is stare at the prince, and his eyes. Those sea-green eyes that could leave him breathless with just a glance. 

“Horatio, are you well?” Prince Hamlet asked. Horatio blushed and turned to hide his face. 

“Yes, my Lord. My apologies.” He responded. He had never meant to stare at the Prince, just glance. “I must go, my Lord. Farewell.” 

“Halt! Horatio, there is something you are not telling me. Something secret. What is wrong? You need not hide anything from me, my friend; tell me.” He reached out towards Horatio, hand hovering just over his arm.

“I am unable to tell you so, my Lord. It is a sin that I shall not pass along. I am very sorry, my Lord. Please understand.” Horatio countered, struggling to suppress his emotions. “It’s for your own sake, my Lord.” With that, Horatio turned on his heel and left, leaving his book ajar on the table in the library. 

Hamlet looked down on the books pages, he read aloud, _"'Love, for a kingdom, or for mankind. Either way, love is strong, and holds things and people together.'"_ Prince Hamlet smirked, before turning away to supper.

**0oo00oo0**  
_October 14, 1599_

“Horatio. Horatio, my love, please listen. I show no love for her. I feel love only for one person in this room. That is you. I have never shown affection for anyone until the day I met you. When I began to string along with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, I never felt any affection; nor do I feel any when Ophelia calls. 

____

“Only when I saw you did my heart begin to stir. Only when I saw you did I yearn to be something more than I was: someone worthy of you.” He cupped Horatio's face, smiling gently. “When I met you, you were the oil to my flame. You ignited something in me that will never be replaced. Love. Is that not what you want from me? Is all you want is undivided attention and me to have no interactions with others besides you? I love you Horatio, but I am Prince, I have duties to commute with others, whomever it may be. I will always love you, but you must agree, that we need to trust one another before our flame is snuffed by the burning cold of jealousy.” 

____

Horatio was led to silence, realizing what Hamlet had said was true. His love should never be in questioning because of a girl he barely knew. “Aye, My Lord.” The silence fell heavy in the room again, but it held no tension, only quiet embarrassment and unworded love. “It is dark out, I must rest.” Horatio stood up, and walked to the door. “Goodnight, my sweet Prince.”

____

“Please, Horatio. Please stay with me. Until I fall into slumber.” Hamlet said. He loved him, and never wanted to leave him, but no one could know of their love, for it may fall into a tragic end. 

____

“Of course, my love.” The ghost of a smile danced over his lips. And stay he did. He stayed by his prince’s side until the moon shone through the window like a single candle’s light in a dark cave. He left as the prince dreamt, and slid into his own chambers.


	3. Chapter 3

_August 17, 1599_

Hamlet and Horatio sat in an alcove of the Grand Hall, discussing the impending arrival of a Nordic diplomat. Hamlet seemed upset at the visit, seeing no reason for it. Horatio, however, argued that it was important to keep strong ties with the neighboring kingdom. While Horatio was talking, Hamlet looked out at the dozen or so servants cleaning the hall.

“Is there something troubling you, Lord Hamlet?” the advisor asked, concerned.

Hamlet shifted slightly before answering, “Perhaps we might discuss somewhere more private?” he asked. “My chambers could suffice.”

Horatio prayed that his flushing cheeks at the prince’s statement would go unnoticed. “I-is something the matter here, My Lord?” Hamlet hesitated a moment before nodding. Before Horatio could respond again, the prince leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his adviser’s lips. In that moment, time slowed to a halt, and Horatio’s mind was racing and silent at the same time. Horatio’s face was as red as his hair when Hamlet pulled away. They were so close that their breath fanned the other’s face. For a moment, neither of them spoke, so intoxicated with each other that they didn’t want to break the spell.

Suddenly remembering where they were, Horatio jumped back in his seat, eyes wide. “My Lord?” He breathed, scarcely making a sound. Hamlet drew back shyly, a small smirk gracing his soft, peach lips.

“Yes, sir?” Hamlet asked, playfully dragging Horatio to his chambers. Horatio closed the door quietly, only to have Hamlet crash his lips into his own. Startled, Horatio didn’t move, unresponding till a tongue gently asked for entrance. He gasped, letting the tongue slide in and roam his mouth. When his prince pulled away, Horatio gasped for breath. Still frozen in shock, he watched Hamlet smirk at him and sit in his plush chair beside his window.

“Don’t think I haven’t notice you staring, Horatio. Those longing glances that you send my way when you think no one watches.” He motioned for Horatio to come closer, which the dazed man did without question. “I love how your dark eyes watch me. And do not think for a moment that mine have stayed in place.” 

**0oo00oo0**  
_October 20, 1599_

Horatio smiled softly from his perch on a plush chair in the library before he was startled by his Lord’s presence suddenly at his side. 

“What makes you smile so, Horatio?” Hamlet questioned, chuckling at the glare his other half sent him. Putting his hand to his chest dramatically, Hamlet threw himself staggering back, as if struck. “Oh, Horatio! Your glare pierces my heart like the strokes of a thousand daggers!”

“‘Tis what you get for startling me.” 

“And what has you so deep in thought? Were you thinking of me?” He leaned in close to his adviser, the impish grin still on his face.

“Your ego wishes so,” Horatio snorted, lightly pushing Hamlet away. They teased each other playfully for a moment longer before Hamlet sat next to Horatio, somber look crossing his features. Even Horatio could not lift the heavy worry that weighed on his chest.

Horatio knew his love more than he knew the hairs on his head, and could tell that Hamlet hid a secret, that something troubled his mind. Hamlet saw the concern in Horatio's eyes, and sighed; grateful to have a love who knew his heart, ashamed that he could not shield the one who mattered most to him from the fear and sadness that now threatened his every waking hour.

“The king my father has fallen gravely ill,” He said, eyes fixed on the floorboards as if they held the cure. “The vicious poison of my uncle has weakened him against this ailment. The healers say he may not fight the sickness for long.” Horatio took Hamlet’s hand in his, offering what comfort he could. “I am afraid, Horatio. Afraid of being without my father, afraid of being king.” He took a shuddering breath and rubbed his face. “I cannot be king, Horatio.” He said desperately.

“If you will not ascend the throne at your time, My Lord,” Hamlet raised his eyes to Horatio’s. “Then who will?” He paused for a moment. “Your father was younger than you when he took his throne.”

“My father was a far greater king than I.”

“But you admit you are a king.” Hamlet was unable to stifle a smile at Horatio’s wit. 

Hamlet sighed again. “Come, Horatio. Let us visit my father.” They stood, walking hand in hand to the king’s apartments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter had a little fluff, but the plot is starting to get going. The future chapters will start getting a bit darker, but we have our favourite Danish gays to lighten things up.
> 
> P.S. New characters on the horizon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dramatic change comes to Elsinore.

_November 23, 1599_

“My Lord Hamlet…” He turned at the voice of a guard behind him. The guard met his sorrowful eyes to Hamlet’s, and dropped his gaze to the floor. No other words needed to be said.  
The king was dead.

The guard knelt before his new king, who strode past him towards his father’s rooms. 

As Hamlet sat by his father’s side, warm hand clutching cold flesh, the healer who had been there when the king died informed Hamlet that the king’s last wish was that his death be avenged and his brother slain. Rage had been burning through the very core of Hamlet’s being, but now it grew so powerful that his hands shook with the effort of holding it back. The court had been delaying and postponing his uncle’s execution, balking in their fear to slay someone of royal blood. No longer. Hamlet called a lord of the court, and told him, in a quiet tone that could make a mountain shrink in fear, that the traitor was to be slain. He would not be granted the silent passing and grand funeral as his brother had, merely an executioner’s axe and a shallow, unmarked grave, where his soul would be doomed to never find peace or rest.

The sun’s rays were beginning to creep over the hills and oceans to the east. The first light that hit Hamlet’s face were tinted red by the morning; but his vision was stained red not by the sun, but by anger, betrayal, and an overwhelming loss that was the ice behind his fire. 

 

“Bring me the traitor!” Hamlet’s voice boomed as he stormed down the dark hall. The clanking of his and the guards’ swords was the only sound that echoed the long dungeons. They reached the end of the dungeon, to find the prisoner in chains. He looked up, scowling at the men outside the door. He noted, with some surprise, the richly decorated vest that Hamlet wore. The garb of a king.

“So, nephew,” The traitor said with the gravelly, cynical voice of a man who knew that he would die, and knew that he had nothing. “You visit me at last. Come to put me out of my misery?” He let out a coughing, choking, laugh at Hamlet’s fury, which, though cooled and tempered, was still mightier than any other in Denmark. 

“Claudius of Denmark,” Hamlet snapped, voice sharper and more steeled than the sword at his side. “You are charged with treason of the highest order, and sentenced to death upon order of the King.”  
“Let us not dally then, unless you have lost your nerve.”

Hamlet approached the cell, grabbed the chains which bound his hands and neck, and lead him to the outdoor arena, for a public execution. “Here is the traitor charged with the murder of King Hamlet.” He cried, throwing his uncle-the traitor! no kin of his-onto the platform. Then softer: “Pray that your soul may escape the deepest fires of Hell.” Claudius was chained to the deeply tarnished block, and the executioner raised his axe. With a sickening thud, the deed was done. Hamlet, steeled as he was, couldn’t help but cringe at the smell of rusted iron. A hand gripped his shoulder, steadying him. Putting his hand over Horatio’s, Hamlet closed his eyes. 

“Let God be his judge,” Hamlet sighed. 

“And our witness,” Horatio agreed. He led Hamlet back into Elsinore, hoping to take his mind away from the execution. They took refuge from the crowds in Hamlet’s room, where Horatio spoke about the coronation, politics, the yuletide celebration in two month’s time, anything to distract him from what just happened. 

Despite all of Horatio’s efforts, the weight of what he had been forced to do burdened him, snuffing out the anger and leaving only grief and longing for his father in its place. It would be many years until Hamlet could think back to that day without feeling the pain of the uncle he had killed and the anguish of a father whom he lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos! It's such a big motivation to keep posting.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second major change in Elsinore, and a shocking revelation.

_November 30th, 1599_

“Hamlet, my son!” Gertrude cried as she entered the room, where a rich velvet cape was being fitted over Hamlet’s shoulders. “Oh, my son! It feels like nary a year since I was a young girl witnessing your father’s coronation. And yet here you stand, ready to ascend the throne! Oh, my son, I could not be more proud of your virtue.” Her voice was like the dresses she wore: overly extravagant and clearly more for show than practicality.

“Indeed, mother?” He muttered, hoping that his mother would cease her dramatics. Horatio, sitting in a corner, lifted his book to hide his smile.

“Simply think, Hamlet,” She was still caught up in her world. “Tomorrow you shall be king, and that mirth overwhelms the sadness that clouds my heart! I have arranged the finest of festivities, the castle shall be full of guests. Perhaps you might take a liking to some young maiden…? I hear the lovely Ophelia has oft sought your private attention.”

Now Horatio’s knuckles whitened as he clenched the book he was feigning to read. The mere mention of Ophelia, or any maiden for that matter, taking the attention of Hamlet made his blood boil and rise to his face. Hamlet could see the anger flashing across Horatio’s face, and swiftly changed the conversation with his mother, discussing the famous Players who had just arrived to celebrate the coronation. Horatio noticeably softened as the conversation turned away from women and romance; both the new king and his advisor were still frightened that anyone should discover the depths of their affections for each other before Hamlet was crowned and given the kingdom.

Hamlet was, in some time, able to convince his mother to leave them in peace. The sewers and fitters had long since taken their leave, and the royal dressings as well for that matter.

“My mother seems quite adamant that I should take a bride before long; she wishes for an heir. Though I do not know what fixes her attention such on the likes of Ophelia.” Hamlet sat next to his quiet love, draping an arm over his shoulders. “I am afraid that she may be disappointed at my choice of consort.” He leaned over, pressing his soft lips to Horatio’s temple.

“She will soon have to give up her fantasies of Ophelia as queen either way,” Horatio said, a tinge of satisfaction lightening his voice. “I hear her brother Laertes has warned her about seeking your attention again, my Lord.”

Hamlet raised an eyebrow at Horatio’s statement. “And has this event anything to do with you, my love?”

Horatio looked up with wide-eyed innocence and a playful smirk. “Why, it was simply a happy coincidence, my Lord. May I not rejoice in it?” Hamlet chuckled and pulled Horatio closer to his chest.

“Horatio,” He said suddenly, in an odd tone. “As king, none can overturn my orders. None can punish me for acting against their wishes. Nothing is forbidden to me.” He nuzzled against Horatio’s neck and whispered in his ear. “Marry me, my love.”

“M-my Lord?” Horatio stumbled over his words in shock.

“Marry me, Horatio, once I wear the crown of mine country upon my brow.”

Horatio wrapped his arms around his Lord’s neck and murmured against his lips: “Of course, my Lord.”

**0oo00oo0**  
_December 2nd, 1599_

The heavy velvet robe felt like lead around Hamlet’s shoulders. He didn’t dare pace in front of the door for fear of clanking his sword against his guilded boots, but his legs itched to move. After a time that felt like an eternity yet was far too short, the heavy oaken doors before him swung open.

He walked through them, taking a shuddering breath as he felt the eyes of all those in the hall upon him. He walked slowly, with dignity, in the ceremonial way that he had been taught since birth. In the back of the hall, where he passed first, there were throngs of commoners, every citizen from Elsinore and the city surrounding it who could ride, walk, or be carried to the ceremony. He spotted Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, two of his close friends from France, among them. Then there were Lords and Ladies of the court, earls and dukes from every court and city in Denmark. At the end of the hall, closest to the throne, there were the highest Lords of the King’s Council, sitting alongside his mother and Horatio. His advisor had a proud gleam in his eye, not caring to disguise the smile spread across his face. Finally, he reached the throne and lowered to one knee. A holy man dressed in fine silver robes held the velvet cushion on which rested the crown of the royal house of Denmark. Hamlet ascended the few steps to the throne, and watched as the priest lifted the heavy, bejeweled crown of gold and silver and placed it on Hamlet’s brow. He turned, and sat on the throne.

“Behold,” The priest’s voice rang out. “I crown thee, and I name thee King Hamlet the Fifth of Denmark, Defender of the Peace, Tamer of the Mighty Seas, Scourge of the Wicked and Traitorous. Hail, King Hamlet. Long live the king.”

“Hail, King Hamlet. Long live the king.” The crowd echoed. Hamlet then stood and drew the king’s heavily ornamented sword from his side, hoisting it above his head. The crowd let out a loud cheer. Hamlet prayed that the gleaming blade did not reveal the trembling of his hand.

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

The celebrations lasted for many days. There were feasts, plays, gifts presented from every corner of Hamlet’s new kingdom. By the third day of festivities, Hamlet had steeled his nerve and his mind on one thing; his only goal, the sole reason he had taken the throne, the thing he would reveal tonight.

Many people were dancing, while others were feasting at long tables. Hamlet rose from his seat, and made his way towards the center of the room, pulling Horatio along with him. When they reached the center, Hamlet placed his hand on Horatio’s hips, pulling them close to his own. The music seemed to slow in their ears. The king crashed his lips to his love’s, moving one hand up to tangle in Horatio’s red hair, holding on as if he was afraid the moment could disappear.

The hall collectively held a bated breath, no one wanting to make the next move. Then Guildenstern, inspired by Hamlet’s boldness, grabbed the taller Rosencrantz’s chin and connected their lips.

When Hamlet pulled back, Horatio had to gasp for breath, cheeks flushing so deeply that his scattered freckles became nearly invisible. When Hamlet looked around, it was visible that people were shocked, yet somehow charmed. Suddenly, there was an applause from one citizen of Denmark. Soon, the room was filled with applause, causing the shy Horatio to blush, as Hamlet possessively grabbed his hand, as if daring a single person to take his love from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter! It's a bit longer than some of the others, but I figured we had to make up for how dark the last one was. In the next few chapters, we'll be getting some new characters!


	6. Chapter 6

_December 4th, 1599_

That night, there was a knock on the door of Hamlet’s chambers. “My Lord Hamlet,” Ophelia’s voice called from the corridor outside. Hamlet opened the door to see her where she stood, jaw locked and eyes faintly shot with blood. Her hair curled out in all directions, rather than the neat braids it was normally tucked into. She held out her hand, where she clutched a small token: a necklace that Hamlet had given her. 

“My L-... My King, I come to return this, and to ask something of you.” Her voice was clipped, hard, and hollow.

“What would you ask of me, Ophelia?” He asked gently, tilting his head until it rested against the doorframe.

She took a breath before continuing. “I ask for my heart. I gave it to you foolishly, and immaturely. I ask for you to return it to me.” Hamlet hesitated for a moment, then reached out and closed her hand around the necklace.

“Your heart was never mine, Ophelia,” He said gently, seeking out her eyes with his own. “It has never been mine to keep, or to give. I am sorry that you took my kindness for love, and that I took your love for kindness.” He brushed a lock of hair out of his face. “You may always look for compassion in me, Ophelia.” With that, he closed the door, leaving her alone again; though she began to wonder if her lonesomeness had ever truly ceased.

0oo00oo0

_December 6th, 1599_

The Queen Mother was arranging a visit to England for herself, and was choosing her company to travel with. Among others to accompany her, she selected Ophelia to be her personal attendant. Hamlet was walking through the mostly empty Great Hall when Ophelia’s brother Laertes approached him. 

“My King, might I have a word with you?” He asked. Hamlet acquiesced, and they stood in an alcove to converse. 

“Laertes, I had no notion that my mother would ask Ophelia to accompany her on her journey, the decision had naught to do with me-”

“It is not of Ophelia’s journey that I wish to speak, though it is of Ophelia.” Laertes quickly interrupted. “She has told me of you presenting her with tenders, granting her audience late in the night, doing nothing to dissuade her affections, yet now you rebuff her.” He rubbed his closed fist with his other hand. “My question is, my Lord,... If you loved her not, why did you allow her to believe otherwise?”

“Laertes…” Hamlet felt a lump grow in his throat. Memories of Ophelia crowded his mind, glances and smiles that he could not tell were of love or friendship. “Good Laertes, I was as ignorant to her affections as she was to my lack. I never wished to cause her any pain. I apologise if I have.” Laertes stood still for a moment, then quickly left, giving a brief bow to the king. 

Hamlet went to his mother’s chambers, finding her and several handmaidens who often attended her. “Oh, son! What a delight to see you. How have you been? I feel wondrous! Oh, I am so proud of my young king!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him. 

“I am well, mother.” Hamlet replied, “I regret that I may not accompany you on your journeys. My shoulders weigh heavy with the duties of king.” Hamlet paused, before adding, “I love you very much, Mother. May the winds blow well at the day of you leave.” With that, he turned and retired to the library to find Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Horatio.

“Friends, what a pleasant surprise! Horatio, my love, are you well?” Hamlet smiled, turning to Horatio. 

“I am well, my love.” He planted a kiss on Hamlet’s cheek, and returned to his book. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern smirked, grasping each other’s hands. The friends talked long, and the ticking of the sun in the sky lasted for two hours before the two couples decided it time to part from the comforting smells of old books and the touch of worn leather spines.

As they left the library, Hamlet invited his two friends and soon to be husband to supper. The two couples sat at the head of the table. As Hamlet gazed through the room, he found Ophelia, looking depressed. She wore a dull dress, hair undone, and though the tear streaks down her cheeks had been washed away, he could see the turmoil in her eyes. 

“Ophelia, come forth to me.” Hamlet demanded. She left her seat, to walk to the front of the hall.

“Yes, my king?” She asked, quiet voice almost drowned out by the din of the crowded hall, looking worse up close than from afar. She looked frail, delicate… hurt. 

“I have hear that you are to travel to England with my mother. Is that so?” Hamlet asked, trying his best to drift her mind into a different topic than the event that happened the night before. 

“Aye, my King. I am to venture with your mother, who was kind enough to invite me, despite all that has happened.” She replied, uncouthly. He flinched, knowing that he has driven poor Ophelia to madness, due to his lack of emotions for her. Despite all that has happened. Those words clung to his chest densely. 

“Very well. I wish the best of your travels.” He replied, politely. With that he returned to his meal, distracted to his friends conversation. 

“Is all well, my Lord? Is there something that troubles you?” Rosencrantz asked, genuinely concerned for not only the king, but for his friend. 

“I am well. ‘Tis Ophelia,” he paused, compiling his thoughts, “I have upset her. I am unable to take back what I said, for if I would be no better than a liar. She had, has, feelings for me that I am unable to return. What am I to do?” he finished, gazing across the table for help. 

“The decision is yours, my Lord. I will be there for you, whatever path you may take.” With that, Rosencrantz took a sip of beer, and returned to his conversation with the rest of his friends. Hamlet took a sip of wine, and contemplated what to do.

“There is naught you can do, nor should,” Guildenstern offered thoughtfully. At Hamlet’s confused look, he continued: “You cannot return her feelings without betraying your own heart, and she will not seek out your aide for a wound that was caused by you, knowing or unknowingly so. And where aide is not invited, it should not be forced.” Hamlet considered his friend’s quiet words, and what they meant. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps Ophelia needed to heal herself before she opened to another.

After dinner, Hamlet, Horatio, Guildenstern and Rosencrantz all gathered at the library once more. Hamlet seemed more and more upset everytime that Horatio turned to him.  
“My love, please inform me on what troubles you. I may be able to ease your discomforts.” Horatio carefully selecting his words. 

“Will I cause her more harm if I try to help?” Hamlet asked, voice softer and more conflicted than Horatio had heard it before. Hamlet hated to show weakness in front of his love and friends, but he was torn. “My heart aches while Ophelia suffers, yet mine own ignorance is the cause of her woes. If I allow her to reconcile her own heart, I must sit and do naught as one is pained on my account!” He slammed his book shut, and threw it to a table several meters away. If there was one thing Hamlet hated more than anything, it was powerlessness.

“Let me be of assistance, my love, my king.” Horatio lifted Hamlet’s chin gently, pulling it up for a kiss. The kiss was electric, hearts speeding. Hamlet gasped as a tongue begged for entrance, letting the tongues fight for dominance. Hamlet won, as usual, and grabbed Horatio’s waist, giving a small hug. 

“Shall we take our leave of you?” Guildenstern asked teasingly. The two lovers blushed, and released each others hold. 

“Did I help, my love?” Horatio chirped. Hamlet glared, not mad, but playful, grabbing a book, and reading. 

0oo00oo0

The players who had come to celebrate the coronation put on many spectacular plays, some even being in honor of the Prince Consort himself. One, which proved to be a favorite of Horatio’s, was a tale of two warriors who fell in love, and abandoned battle for each other. Little did Horatio know, this very tale was written by his beloved. 

The festivities were made even more extravagant by the queen, who was determined to see the celebration through before she left for England. She insisted on more banquets, more plays, more songs, more dances, more gifts for Horatio, whom she happily accepted as her second son. So much so, even, that Hamlet had started to jest that Horatio was more favored by his mother than was he. The only time she spoke ill of their relationship was in private, when she expressed to Hamlet a concern for their house; Hamlet had no brother nor sister, and no children could now be born from the house. Hamlet had dismissed such worries, claiming that they were frivolous, and weighed not on his mind. He cared not for the future of his house of Horatio played no part in it. 

“Horatio, my love, let us celebrate the soon to be communion of the two of us. Let us feast.” Hamlet rolled over, eyes staring at Horatio, who was reading a book on the Queen of England written some 50 years prior. 

Horatio set his book down, turned to look at his soon-to-be husband, and sighed. “Of course, My Lord.” They gathered Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, forgoing taking a guard on the account that they weren’t leaving the city, and headed off to a local pub. 

“M-my King, what has sent you to our establishment?” A timid, young barkeeper said, nearly dropping the glass he was cleaning. 

“Bring us your finest wine!” Hamlet ordered. The young barkeep hurriedly led them to a table, where he brought them pitchers of the finest wine there were in the bar. As the king and his friends began to drink, the barkeep rushed out the back door, pulling the equally young and shocked barmaid along with him. 

“The King is here!” He looked as if he were about to faint. “Send word to Frederickson, tell him to bring the finest he has!” The barmaid nodded quickly and ran off. Soon after, a stout, plump man approached the table. He presented them with several fine wines and meads, from which the men gratefully selected their picks. They laughed, talked, drank and sang the night away, and when they finally came back to Elsinore, there was no trace of evening light in the dark sky, and every star was aflame in the inky night. Hamlet, who was the most sober of them, left the barkeep a, not inconsiderable, sum of money for serving the four of them, which was never an easy task. In the years that followed, Hamlet would often come back there to revel in the memories of that carefree night. 

Hamlet and Horatio didn’t read books, as was their usual custom, that night. Rather, they simply gazed at each other, and no words needing to be spoken. Hamlet was infatuated, fascinated by the way that the moonlight tangled in Horatio’s red hair and made his lashes trace long shadows down his cheeks. Horatio was just as taken with his Lord’s blond locks and strong face, where his beard of short stubble had begun to grow longer. There, they fell asleep in each other’s embrace, not caring what any who saw them may say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter today to make up for not posting recently. Some fluff (and something big on the horizon but you didn't hear it from me).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to Hamlet and Horatio in school.

_March 17th, 1597_   


Snowflakes drifted outside the thick glass pane. Gentle light glinting through the window slowly roused the prince from the table where he had fallen asleep. As Hamlet’s eyes blinked open, a sudden panic shot through him. He stumbled his way to the window and looked out to the clock tower across the green. He sighed in relief, it was not yet even 7 o’clock.

He began to fold and organize the beloved maps he had fallen asleep studying. He had often thought to himself that, had he not been born a prince to be his father’s heir, he would have become a cartographer. He was just pulling on a fresh tunic when the door to his room burst open.

“Hamlet!” Rosencrantz called out, likely waking anyone still sleeping in the adjacent rooms. Rosencrantz was tall, and of a lanky build, with light brown hair that had the ultimate goal of falling in his face, despite how he may try to contain it. Guildenstern followed closely behind Rosencrantz. Guildenstern was a few inches shorter than Rosencrantz, just below Hamlet. He was stocky, and more reserved than his outspoken companion. He kept his dark brown hair cut close to his head, and his pale blue eyes sat like polished riverstones in his face.

Hamlet sighed. “Must you do this every day? I leave here at winter’s thaw; who then will you wake at some atrocious hour of the morning?” Rosencrantz pointedly ignored him.

“Well, Guildenstern,” The taller man asked. “Do you think it’s time we should introduce them?” The knowing smirk that danced on his face told Hamlet that they were planning something devious.

“Have it out, then,” Hamlet demanded, intrigued and frustrated simultaneously.  “What scheme are you plotting now?” He looked from Guildenstern’s face to Rosencrantz’s, trying to read their expressions.

Guildenstern cracked a smile as he and Rosencrantz looked at each other, which for the stoic Guildenstern was like bursting into uproarious laughter.

“Then it’s settled.” Rosencrantz leapt up from where he had taken residence on Hamlet’s bed. “I think they shall get along quite famously, don’t you agree, Guildenstern?”

“Oh, yes, splendidly,” Said Guildenstern, jokingly trying to match Rosencrantz’s extravagant way of speaking, making all the men start laughing.

Rosencrantz grabbed Guildenstern (who by now was perfectly used to being pulled around by his energetic friend), and quickly made for the door. “Base of the clock tower, half past ten!” he cried back to Hamlet, who nodded his head with a bemused look on his face.

At the time Rosencrantz had instructed him, Hamlet walked towards the tower. He was buried in another of his books, not looking up until he bumped into someone, knocking them both to the ground. This wasn’t Rosencrantz, nor Guildenstern. Curious, he looked up to face a young student around his age, with vaguely familiar loose curls of red hair and warm, inviting brown eyes that sat above a soft nose and full lips. Hamlet stuttered out an apology, trying not to blush at the other man’s flustered look. He reached to pick up the stranger’s book, at the same time he did, causing their hands to brush together and Hamlet’s blush to deepen. Hamlet quickly gave the book to the redheaded man, before noticing with a start that it was the same as his.

“Horatio, I present Prince Hamlet of Denmark.” Rosencrantz suddenly appeared, with Guildenstern at his side. So suddenly that Hamlet wondered if they had been waiting behind the nearby shrubbery.

“Aye, I recall meeting you. Very briefly of course. You were in my literature class, correct?” Hamlet asked. While waiting for a response, he looked at the boy. He had fair skin, sharp cheekbones, red, curly hair, and very common clothes. He noticed Horatio look away, and realized he had been staring.

“Yes, I do recall seeing you in class. You have an interesting taste in text.” Horatio stated, dipping his eyes in a way that was either courtesy, or an examination of Hamlet’s Adonian physique.

“Rosencrantz, don’t we have business to attend to?” Guildenstern questioned, though Hamlet doubted they did.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we do. If you will excuse us, my lord. Good day, Horatio.” Rosencrantz looked back at Hamlet, smirking, while Hamlet glared at him as if he were plotting to murder his friends.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Hamlet is worried about not being king material. Cute domestic danish gays being gays.

_April 10th, 1599_   


Horatio awoke first. A gentle sea breeze greeted him, blowing a few locks of hair into his face. Hamlet eyes were still shut; the lines of worry that his new position had etched on his face were softened, and in the golden light of a new dawn he looked more like a statue of carved marble than a man or king.

  
Horatio reached up, pressing a kiss to the lips of his beloved, his lord, his Hamlet. He trailed kisses down Hamlet’s jaw, and after a moment Horatio saw his eyes flutter open. Strong arms pulled Horatio closer, and they shared a warm embrace in the morning light.

  
“Well, this is certainly a wonderful way to wake,” Hamlet said, voice deep and rough from sleep. Horatio only chuckled in response, leaning his head into the crook of Hamlet’s neck. The couple dallied within their bed for several long moments, before Hamlet sighed and rose to ready for the day.

  
Since the day they had announced their betrothal, Horatio had all but abandoned his old rooms in the palace. As such, he had several sets of tunics and breeches to choose from already in the King’s suite. As king, Hamlet often wore finely embroidered tunics of bright colors, some with gold or silver hemming for important festivals. Horatio’s clothes were befitting of the courtesan of a king, yet were in his preferred shades of subdued reds and blues. He selected one of the latter, and a pair of sturdy brown trousers, as he planned to spar later that day. At the sound of footsteps, Horatio turned to find Hamlet exiting the washroom, shirtless and shaking a few droplets of water from his hands. Horatio pulled his eyes away as his cheeks colored slightly. Seeing Horatio’s choice of garb, Hamlet himself selected a shirt of fiery red, the same shade as Horatio’s hair. A black cape and breeches completed his attire. Normally, Hamlet would forgo wearing a cape on a temperate day, but a bit of finery was expected of him today.

  
Arms entwined, the pair strode down the corridor together, perfectly in stride. Hamlet wore a circlet of gold atop his already flaxen head, and Horatio one of silver. When they arrived in the Great Hall, it was already bustling with servants making preparations for the feast. It had been planned for just past noon, so that the Queen Mother and her envoy could set sail before the sun set.

  
It was a custom for the King to send well wishes for the departure of royalty, whether it be for family, or others. Today, however, was bringing stress to Hamlet. “Horatio, my love, how am I to make a speech. I have heard many great speeches from my father, but never have I even thought of presenting one.” Hamlet tossed himself on a nearby chair, obviously fearful of failure.

  
“You do not believe your father was perfect when he was crowned king, do you? You aren’t born with all the acquired traits of a king, just with blood. You learn to be king over time. You, my lord, are not your father.” Horatio commented, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear nervously.

  
“I am not my father, yes. But am I even fit to be king? If I cannot send someone off to sea, then what does that prove? That I am powerful only for blood? Am I not worthy?” Hamlet sighed, leaning his head back in distress.

  
“You are, my love. You need not prove that to me, but to yourself.” Horatio planted a soft kiss on Hamlet’s cheek. “Come, it is almost time.” Horatio helped Hamlet up from the chair, leading him to the front of the room.

  
“You have always been a master of words, Horatio.” Hamlet’s whisper quiet so that no others could hear, lips just brushing Horatio’s ear, and its huskiness sent shivers down his spine. “Words and my heart.”

  
“It is with my deepest hopes that you are to have safe travels, and will await your return. May God be with you and keep you from all troubles.” Hamlet finished his speech and returned to his seat.

  
“That was excellent, Hamlet.” Rosencrantz called out to Hamlet from a few seats away.

  
“There was nothing excellent about that,” Hamlet huffed, taking large sips of wine from his goblet. I am in no way fit to rule a kingdom. He finished his wine in a quick gulp and sighed. Once people cleared from the room, he retired to his chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the potato of the three of us (a.k.a. the angstyist writer). Be prepared for something big coming up. Like big oof big.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically Hamlet and Horatio's first time meeting part 2. It is a really short flashback, but it gives some of Horatio's backstory (not much).

March 17th, 1597 

Two boys, hardly old enough to be called young men, stood by each other; each trying to take in the sight of the other without being caught.

“Well it seems foolish to stand out here in the cold. Would you perhaps join me in the library?” Hamlet asked, false confidence filling his voice.

“Yes, my lord.” Horatio stuttered back, following the Prince, not noticing the blush popping up. He looked at the prince, examining his every move. The slight swagger of his gait, the subtle waves in his hair, even the fine weave of his overcoat. When they approached the doors to the library, he felt a slight rush of nervousness. 

“What are you studying currently?” Hamlet asked, in an attempt to lessen the awkwardness of meeting someone new.

“C-classical literature and politics...” Horatio responded. “The library here is quite wonderful, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh, yes” Hamlet waved his hand dismissively. “At the castle there are thousands of books. I think you would like it there. What job does your father do?” Hamlet asked, a bit insensitively. He sprawled out on a daybed, grabbing a book from the pile next to him.

“My father left home on a voyage when I was born.” Horatio said curtly, resentment rising up within him. “He died when I was a boy, never returning home. As soon as I came of age, my mother sent me away here.” Why are you telling this to a prince? His brain screamed at him. He realized Hamlet had looked up from the book.

“I’m… Very sorry.”

Horatio waved away the pity. “I’ve made myself here. I needn’t look back at my past.”

“Still, companionship might do you well, if you will accept mine,” Hamlet replied, uncharacteristically sheepish. The bell in the clocktower struck the hour, and Hamlet rose from his seat, earnestly meeting Horatio’s beautiful, dark, eyes. “I must go attend my class. I look forward to furthering our conversation.” He stopped and turned back, suddenly quite nervous. “Perhaps tonight?” Others began to enter the library and Hamlet turned to go before Horatio could answer. “Good day, Horatio.” With that, he left the room, leaving Horatio to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to try and start posting more, so we shall see. I hope you are liking this!


End file.
